


Just In Case

by ljunattainable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/ljunattainable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cas. What the hell happened?”</p>
<p>“Demons,” Cas spits out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just In Case

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed a bit of gratuitous hurt/comfort & Sam being Cas's friend fic.

Sam nearly cuts himself with the razor when he hears the sudden, unexpected noise in the next, supposedly empty, room - a rustle then the sound of a large object landing on the bed with a soft thump, then shuffling, a stumble and a groan and something being knocked over.

Hurriedly, Sam puts the razor down on the edge of the sink, picks up the gun that’s lying on top of the plaid button-up that’s strewn on top of the toilet seat, and he hightails it into the motel bedroom half-shaven and shirtless, gun held out and up in front of him.

Cas is doubled over by the bed, hovering over Dean who’s unconscious and bleeding out of a wound in his side all over the comforter. Sam rushes forward and tries to get a look at what’s wrong over Cas’s broad back.

“Cas. What the hell happened?”

“Demons,” Cas spits out without turning around. “Get something to stop the bleeding.” 

For a second Sam freezes. They only went to get pizza for God’s sake. When Sam doesn’t move straight away, Cas looks at him over his shoulder, his forehead bloody, his hair sticky with it. 

“Sam, hurry.”

Yeah. Crap. He drops the gun on top of the nearest dresser and grabs for Dean’s duffel. He pulls out shirts and underwear and clean jeans, throwing them onto the floor in his rush, until finally, at the bottom of the bag, he finds what he’s looking for. He grabs the first aid box and dashes to join Cas at the side of the bed. 

Cas has taken his coat off and is using it to push against Dean’s injury with one hand while his other rests on Dean’s shoulder. Cas is talking to Dean urgently in a low murmur but Sam thinks the words are more for Cas’s benefit than Dean’s.

“Can you do anything?” Cas asks. To Sam his voice sounds strangely desperate.

Sam stares at the blood soaking through the cheap material of Cas’s coat while he fights to free the gauze and bandages from their wrappings. And while he’s at it he should dig out the sutures as it’s fairly obvious they’re going to need them.

“I don’t know man. Stitches. What you’re doing is good.” Cas presses a little harder on the coat and Dean’s breath stutters.

“I’m cut off from the host,” Cas says, apropos to nothing. He sounds angry and upset and it’s so unusual for him to get emotional that Sam flicks him a cautious glance. Blood’s dripping from the wound on Cas’s head into his left eye forcing it closed, but even with only one open eye he still manages to look as if he wants to smite something.

“I know. I know you’d help if you could,” Sam says, finally liberating the largest dressing with a hissed “yes,” under his breath.

Sam has to force Cas’s hand away from his coat on Dean’s side when he’s ready with the dressing, and Cas reluctantly lets go. He moves up the bed a little so Sam can get in, and his other hand never leaves Dean’s shoulder. 

“Shit, this is bad,” Sam mutters when he looks at the wound. He presses the new dressing, a lot more hygienic than Cas’s coat, on to the wound and holds it down tight. The cut’s long and it’s going to take hours to stitch and he doesn’t know if they’ve got hours with the amount it’s bleeding. He turns sideways to plead with Cas.

“I know you’re cut off the from the host, but is there anything you can do? A spell, sigil, ritual. Something. I don’t know if I can fix this in time.”

Cas doesn’t answer but his hand on Dean’s shoulder shifts to the artery in his neck. Cas doesn’t look happy with whatever he finds there.

“Please, Cas,” Sam begs, grabbing a piece of the front of cas's suit jacket and gripping hard, balling the fabric into his fist. Cas stumbles towards him, which catches Sam by surprise. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Cas snaps. He looks down at Sam’s hand in his jacket with his one useful eye. Sam removes his hand, holds it up apologetically. 

“There is something I can try,” Cas says. He wipes his palm over his forehead and frowns at the blood, then looks down at himself and Sam follows his gaze and sees red on the white dress shirt just above Cas’s waistband. Cas frowns, and so does Sam.

“You know what?” Sam says, “pass me the sutures. We’ll do this the human way. It’ll be fine.” He hopes it’ll be fine.

“I can help him,” Cas says stubbornly. “Not heal him,” he adds in warning, turning to look at Dean. “Not the way I could, but there is something I can do.” Cas lifts the box with the medical supplies in it. “I trust you Sam. If you say this won’t work, I believe you. We can’t just let him die. He means too much to m… to us.”

And no, they can’t do that, and yes, he does.

“But you should keep this handy, just in case,” Cas says, handing over the box of medical supplies.

“In case what?” Sam asks, taking it in both hands.

“In case I can’t finish the spell,” Cas says, with a huff of irritation as if it’s obvious, and it seems the conversation is over when Cas leans forward with a hand hovering over Dean’s chest, but just before he puts his palm down onto Dean’s sternum, Sam grabs his shoulder.

“Aren’t you gonna, you know,” Sam says, waving an arm loosely up and down indicating Cas’s obvious injuries, “heal yourself first? Won’t it be easier?”

“After,” is all Cas says, giving Sam another surge of doubt, before Cas’s hand lands solidly on Dean, fingers spread wide. 

Sam sits back as Cas blocks him out with his shoulders. While Cas closes his eyes and starts chanting under his breath, his face screwed up in concentration, Sam watches anxiously for signs of improvement in Dean.

“Cas?” he questions after a few minutes when there’s nothing, but Cas doesn’t answer him, doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t even show any sign of having heard Sam at all.

It’s five minutes before Dean takes a deep breath, and his breathing settles. Sam stands up excited and is waiting for more, for Dean to wake up, for the wound, the end of which is just barely visible in Dean’s side around the edge of the dressing, to disappear completely leaving Dean’s skin unblemished, so when Cas breaks the connection, pulling his hand off Dean’s chest as if it weighs a literal ton, Sam stares at him in surprise.

“Is that all?” Sam asks, eyes flicking anxiously between Dean and Cas. Cas doesn’t answer, but takes a wavering step backwards out of the way.

Sam steps in to take Cas's place by Dean’s side. He moves Dean’s shirts out of the way to check the condition of Dean’s injuries, undoes the buttons and then lifts up his t-shirt to check underneath. Every cut and rent in Dean’s skin that had been bleeding out is sealed but in a pinched, sore and angry looking way, the skin puckered over the wounds themselves and inflamed around the edges. Sam drops the shirt back against Dean’s skin. It’s something, even if it’s not everything he hoped for. His disappointment must show in his face.

“I can do more later,” Cas says quietly, too quietly. He looks up and Cas has one arm around his middle and the other is fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, pulling it up around his neck. 

“Dean’s okay now though, right?” Sam asks. “You can heal? Rest up?” Sam gets up and fetches a wet towel which he passes to Cas. “You should wash that blood off,” he says, gesturing to Cas’s face.

“Dean’s fine for now,” Cas says, wiping his face, flinching when he brushes against the cut itself, “but what I started I have to finish or the injuries will re-assert themselves.”

“You didn’t say that,” Sam says, alarmed. “Are you gonna be good to do this? You look as if you’re going to fall over any minute.”

“It’s why you’ve got the medical kit out,” Cas says. “For Dean. Just in case.”

Sam stares at him as understanding kicks in. 

“I thought it was just in case it didn’t work not just in case you keeled over before you finished,” he says in horror.

“You didn’t ask for clarification.”

“I shouldn’t have to. Can you heal yourself now? Before you do the next stint?”

Cas shakes his head. “No. I need all my energy for Dean.”

Sam huffs. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Sam looks at Dean. He doesn’t look restful or healthy yet. 

“How many times do you have to do this?”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not sure. Two or three. At the worst, four.”

Sam stares. “You have no idea, do you? Have you ever done this before?”

“Never,” Cas states wearily before checking behind himself, taking a step back and dropping heavily to sit on the edge of the second bed. He watches Dean.

Sam sits on the plastic chair by the room’s small table. “How long before you have to do it again?” he asks.

“Soon.”

“Soon being?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow and looking at his watch.

Cas looks across at him. “When I can,” he says, impatiently. “Soon.”

Sam gives up. After that, Castiel sits for an hour staring at the wall, or maybe at the awful water-stained, framed landscape photograph that’s hanging on the wall. Sam pretends to read between blatantly obvious checks on his brother, and less obvious checks on Cas but to be honest he’s more worried about Cas right now. If Cas conks out before he’s done doing whatever it is he’s doing to Dean they’re back to square one and Sam’s feeling not a small amount of guilt over asking Cas to do this in the first place, even if it was ultimately Cas’s insistence that they go ahead. 

After an hour, Cas sighs and stands wearily. “I’ll try again now.”

Sam doesn’t ask if he’s strong enough because he knows there’d be no point, he just nods, “Thanks,” and stands at the foot of Dean’s bed while Cas places his hand on Dean’s chest. This time at least Sam doesn’t expect an immediate reaction so he’s not particularly worried when it takes nearly ten minutes before Dean’s wounds scab over and he gets a healthier color in his face. 

But this time when Cas breaks away it’s less than graceful. He stumbles forward, putting an arm out to stop himself falling face-down on to Dean. Sam rushes forward and puts an arm around cas's chest and the other on his upper arm, hauling him back upright. Cas flinches as he does so, wrapping his right arm around his gut.

“What’s wrong?” Sam demands.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“Sam,’ Cas says, pulling Sam’s fingers away from his arm. “I can’t stop now. It’s not finished.”

“You can’t do this again,” Sam says and it’s not an order, it’s a realization.

“I can,” Cas says, undermining the believability of his statement by taking a wobbly step backwards to the other bed and almost collapsing into Sam in the process.

Sam helps Castiel back onto the other bed, leaning him back against the pillows and headboard. He tries to sneak a look at cas's stomach to see if he can see the damage, but Cas gathers the edge of the jacket around himself looking at Sam with a scowl. Sam does catch a flash of red on the upturned collar of Cas’s dress shirt though and he reaches a hand out automatically only to have it batted away.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Cas… “

“Sam… please.” 

Sam backs away, staring from a distance. “At least promise me this isn’t killing you,” he says.

Cas closes his eyes and winces as he leans back. He doesn’t reply.

“Oh, God,” Sam mutters. “Why would you do this? What if we stop. Will Dean be okay?”

Cas shakes his head, small movements that are obviously painful. “I doubt if it will kill me but regardless I have to finish if Dean’s to be okay.” Cas closes his eyes and drops his head back against the headboard.

“I could stitch Dean’s cuts now, while he’s out then when the injuries all re-assert themselves or whatever you said he’ll be okay,” Sam says, scrambling desperately for ideas.

“You won’t finish by the time I have to do the spell again. There’s no point unless you absolutely have no other choice.”

Sam sits down heavily in the plastic chair. “The point, Cas, is that trading your life for his isn’t an acceptable solution.” Sam holds his hand up when Cas looks as if he’s going to interrupt. “However much he means to us. Damn, he’s going to be so pissed if you’re dead when he wakes up.”

Cas huffs in what Sam thinks might be amusement but Sam hadn’t meant it as a joke.

“If I fall asleep, wake me in an hour,” Cas murmurs, and Sam doesn’t bother to comment on exactly how many shades of wrong that statement is coming from an angel.

The next hour passes at a snail’s pace, Sam alternating his attention between his book, Dean and Cas. Dean looks healthy except for the scars. His breathing’s fine, his chest rises and falls regularly. If Sam didn’t know better he’d say he was sleeping. 

Cas on the other hand looks like crap. Pale, his arm gripping his jacket tightly around him and his chest rising and falling like each breath is being forced. When the allotted hour’s up Sam has to shake him awake.

“Is this the last time?” Sam asks as he helps Cas up off the bed.

“I believe so. It’s gone better than I expected.”

Sam grunts in disbelief as Castiel leans his weight against his side. “Awesome. How bad did you expect it to go?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“It wasn’t, but I don’t think I actually want to know the answer.” Sam walks Cas the couple of steps to Dean’s bed and Cas sits down heavily. He closes his eyes, rests his palms on his knees as if he’s mentally readying himself.

Cas starts speaking, giving instructions about what Sam needs to do with Dean after the healing thing that he’s doing is finished. 

“I’m making him sleep. He might only wake in short bouts, then properly when his body’s ready, so don’t worry if that’s what happens. Give him lots of water. I can’t replace the blood he lost and I can’t convince his body that there was never any trauma so he’ll have to rest for a few days. Watch the wounds. There shouldn’t be a problem.”

At first Sam listens as he’s told to until he realizes Cas is telling him now because Cas thinks he might not be in a condition to pass the information on afterward.

“And you?” Sam asks roughly as that realization sinks in.

Cas starts, his eyes open and he turns to Sam. “Me?”

“How do I look after you if you’re out for the count and assuming you’re not - “

“Dead?”

“Yeah, that.”

Cas looks bemused. “I hadn’t given it any thought. Do whatever you feel is necessary, I suppose.”

“Just don’t frigging die,” Sam says, earnestly, reaching out a hand to rest it on Cas’s shoulder and withdrawing quickly when Cas flinches in pain.

“I’ll try not to,” Cas says.

“And don’t do more than you have to,” Sam says, gesturing at Dean, lying peacefully sleeping.

“I won’t.”

Cas turns to Dean and whispers something in his ear, resting a hand on his head for a moment. There’s something incredibly intimate about it and for a brief moment Sam feels as if he’s intruding and he wonders if he should turn away but then Cas shifts his hand and places it firmly on Dean’s chest.

After five minutes, Cas sways alarmingly but his hand doesn’t leave Dean’s chest so Sam stands behind him to give him something to lean on and he takes full advantage. After ten minutes, Dean looks healthy, sleepy, restful, all signs of the injuries have gone, but Cas doesn’t stop. Sam’s just wondering whether or not Cas can stop and perhaps he should do something about it when Cas’s hand slips along Dean’s ribcage and off on to the mattress before he collapses into a heap on the floor.

Sam’s first reaction is to repeat of the same four-letter word over and over again until he works out that Cas isn’t dead. Then it’s to repeat the same four-letter word with the addition of ‘thank’ in front of each repeat.

Cas is heavier than he looks, but Sam manages to lift him and deposit him on the second bed before turning to check on Dean. Dean’s still asleep and once satisfied that he’s okay, Sam turns back to Cas and strips him of his jacket and shirt to finally get a look a the damage he’s been hiding.

Cas’s stomach injury is fairly obviously a knife wound and it’s been left too long and it’s gory and seeping thick, clotting blood. The other injuries around Cas’s neck, collar and upper chest, his shoulders too when Sam leans him over on his side to check, look as if someone used him for fencing practice. Everything’s bleeding persistently and they’re going to need stitching if Cas doesn’t start to heal soon.

Sam’s in a quandary over what to do. If Cas was human, he’d stitch but because he’s convincing himself that Cas will heal before Sam’s finished stitching, he settles for butterfly bandages and wads of dressing tied on with longer strips of bandage. Then he covers Cas with a blanket and goes to check on Dean.

Things over this side of the room are much better. Dean even opens his eyes while Sam’s checking that everything still looks as it should. Sam carefully moves to the right to hide the second bed from Dean’s view.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Dean groans.

Sam reaches for the glass of water beside the bed and Dean props himself on an elbow with a grimace and drinks thirstily before giving the empty glass back to Sam.

“Frigging demons,” Dean mutters dropping his head down on the pillow, closing his eyes. Then his eyes fly open suddenly. 

“Wait,” Dean says, bringing his hands up to his torso and running them along his ribs, belly and chest. “Those son-of-bitches cut me up good. What happened?”

“Cas did something,” Sam says. “But he said it’ll take a few days before you feel good to go so just take it easy.”

“He what? But he can’t,” Dean says. He looks … panicked? Sam’s not sure what’s going on. “He can’t, not without running the risk of… oh, crap. Sam, where is he?“

“We thought you were dying, Dean.” Sam inexplicably feels the sudden need to defend their actions.

“Where. Is. He?” Dean demands pushing himself up off the bed.

Sam shifts sideways and watches Dean’s face fall as he turns to look at Castiel on the other bed. 

“He’s alive,” Sam says as Dean stumbles out of his bed and over to Castiel’s.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, gathering Cas’s face between his hands. “You frigging idiot.” 

His brother puts his cheek to Cas’s, then turns and kisses him as Sam watches, mouth open, in sudden comprehension. That explains an awful lot.

Dean stands up, unsteady on his feet, his face hard.

“We have things to do,” he says.

“I didn’t know about you and Cas,” Sam says though he’s not sure what difference it would have made.

“Well now you do,” Dean says, hard and emotionless. “We have to help him.”

“He said you have to rest,” Sam says, a little pathetically, and he knows, pointlessly. “And he said he’d heal.”

Dean stares at Sam as if Sam’s stupid. 

“Does he look like he’s healing to you?” Dean demands.

Not so much, no. 

“No,” Sam admits.

Dean sits, almost falls, down beside Cas on the bed and wipes a hand down his own face. 

“In the trunk in the impala there’s a wooden box with some script carved in it. It’s tucked in behind that old gray tarp. Go get it.”

Sam looks bewildered at Dean. “What is it?”

Dean looks up wearily. “It’s a kind of angel first-aid kit.” 

“Cas didn’t say anything when I asked. Why wouldn’t he - ?“

“He doesn’t know I’ve got it. You think I’m going to tell him I can fix him if he does stupid stuff like this? He’d be doing stupid stuff like this all the frigging time if he knew.”

“I don’t underst - “

“Look, let’s just say that I knew the stupid son-of-a-bitch would try something one day that would be too much for him so I got the stuff together for a fix-it spell on the quiet. Now can you please go and get it from the car so we can do this before I pass out or Cas dies?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam stutters, turning fast and leaving the room at a rush.

He’s back within three minutes the dark wooden ornate box held in one hand. Dean’s sitting on the bed with Cas, with Cas hauled onto his chest and Dean’s arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. Sam’s never going to get used to this.

The box is smaller than he expected, barely three inches cubed and it looks like ebony. He holds it out for Dean to take but Dean shakes his head. 

“You do it,” Dean says. “I’m not sure exactly what it’s going to do so I think I’m going to stay here, just in case.” Dean rests his chin on the top of Cas’s head and his expression dares Sam to comment. Sam doesn’t. He’s starting to think their life is just one big ‘just in case’.

“What do I do?” Sam says, looking at the box, turning it around to see the carvings.

“Inside there’s a bunch of stuff. You set light to it, then you put the lid back on again. There’re tiny holes in the box. Cas has to breathe it. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Sam asks, eyebrows rising in confusion.

“Yeah.”

“It’s too easy,” Sam mutters, wondering how the hell Dean found out about this let alone got everything together.

“Just do it, man,” Dean says huffing with impatience, “Don’t complain because one thing in our life is easy.”

Dean’s probably got a point.

Sam takes the lid off the box carefully and looks at the chunky contents in disgust. He wonders how many mythological creatures gave up body parts for this. He takes out his lighter and lowers the flame into the box. The contents catch immediately and he puts the lid back on quickly as strong-smelling fumes erupt from the box. Smoke starts to seep out in more controlled amounts from tiny holes in the side of the box just as Dean says. 

“Put it over here,” Dean says, jerking his head to indicate the nightstand.

“This stuff’s okay for us to breathe, right?” Sam checks belatedly as he coughs against the ghastly smelling fumes. 

“It’s harmless,” Dean says, and Sam has to trust him, what choice does he have.

The smoke seeps into the room as if it’s a living thing, not spreading as you’d expect but forming a single column of smoke that moves around as if exploring the room. It twists and writhes into corners near the nightstand before suddenly stilling like a dog that’s caught a scent on the air. It’s very like that in fact, as when it starts moving again it heads straight to Cas. It floats over his face for seconds before disappearing at a rush through his nostrils and the slight gap between his lips.

Then it’s all over. The smoke’s gone. 

Sam stares at Cas, holding his breath but nothing happens.

“Fuck,” Dean says quietly, burying his face into Castiel’s hair. “The dick who sold me that spell - ”

Cas gasps, a huge breath in, and opens his eyes.

“ - is a frigging saint,” Dean finishes. “Cas, you idiot. Never do that again.”

Cas blinks, confused. “Alright.”

Sam takes in a deep breath. “Cas, are you okay?” he asks, haltingly, barely daring to believe it.

“I… “ Cas starts, then pulling away from Dean’s strangling embrace he sits up. “I’m fine,” he finishes in surprise. “What happened? Sam, what did you do? Dean, are you alright?”

Sam snorts out a relieved laugh that’s more like he’s been holding his breath for a day as he stares at Dean and Cas. They’re both fine. Everyone’s fine. All is fine. 

Then his brother leans in to kiss Cas and Sam’s hands flutter helplessly and embarrassingly of their own accord and he has no idea where to look.

Cas senses it and tries to pull away from the kiss. “Dean. Sam. Dean… “

“He knows, Cas,” Dean mutters, peppering kisses along Cas’s jaw, “But he should also know that now would be a good time for him to take off and find a coffee or something.”

Sam doesn’t need to be asked twice and he takes off and finds four coffees.


End file.
